The Inevitable
by PsionicTurtle
Summary: The war. The bloodshed. For eleven years he has fought tooth and nail to survive. Always searching for a way to end the fighting. To stop the madman behind it all. It all comes to a point on one fateful night. In its aftermath a new path is shown to him, one with new friends, comrades, struggles, pain, and enemies, but most importantly it comes with a second chance. AU.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Please don't be discouraged if this chapter is a bit hard to read or disorienting. It's meant to be.**

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In the clearing of the dead forest, there lies a frozen pool that emits a pale glow. Atop that icy surface sits a young woman. Fog shrouds the embankment from view, preventing her from seeing the sprawling trees that lie beyond. Above there are dark clouds on an even darker sky. They are a constant in this forest she calls home; the fog, the clouds, the night, and the cold.

Always cold.

Always dark.

She stares at the ice below her, but it is not her reflection that she sees. No, instead she sees him.

Always him.

The forest has told her his life. The trees whisper of times long past while she peers through the frosty looking glass she rests upon. She has witnessed his triumphs, she has felt his despair, and she has relished battles. She knows him better than she knows herself, in the fathomless eons of her eternity she has never been as attached to a being before. For once in her existence, she cares.

But he doesn't even know she exists.

She hears every heartbeat, sees every twitch, _feels _every desire. Yet still, he goes through his life ignorant of her and her tormented solitude.

He has visited this place before.

He has wandered through the trees, seen the moonless sky, felt the chill in the air. But never once has he crossed the fog that separates them. Never once has he gazed upon the frozen pond.

She has screamed her throat _raw _to reach him, but his ears are deaf to her cries as he soldiers onward.

Always taking on the burden of those below him, and always paying the price for it. She doesn't understand why he continues to put this torture upon himself. He has suffered, _bled_, fought more than anyone around him, but he still moves forward, suffering more, bleeding more, fighting more.

Perhaps that's what she admires about him. That spirit, that drive that she never had and never sought.

He is after all only mortal.

Which is why she is afraid, why she so desperately watches the ice. She sees him, and she sees his doom.

It is one of his own design.

She had just found a hint of meaning in her eternity through him, and soon it will be gone forever.

He is going to die.

She doesn't want to be alone again. She doesn't want him to die.

She could stop it, would stop it, if only he would just _listen_.

Yet he can't hear her, and will never hear her.

But she can still help him.

There is a flash of light from underneath the ice.

A scream.

A crack.

A fall.

Everything is dark.

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**Author's Note: Hello all, this is my first time doing something like this so I would appreciate hearing your thoughts on this. The rest of the chapters won't be written like this and will be longer, I just wanted to try something different seeing as its the prologue and from her point of view which is a bit warped. Next chapter is coming up soon.**


	2. Death

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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In the dead forest, a man is running for his life. He hears cracking and popping as his pursuers draw closer. Bolts of light fly past him impacting against the surrounding trees, sending splinters flying. A few graze his cheek while others embed themselves in his arms that he raised to protect himself. With a step, twist, and a crack he distances himself from them, just a little farther.

He can't stop.

He won't stop.

More cracks echo behind him. They keep coming, no matter what he does they keep following him. It's been this way for eleven years.

He fights.

He runs.

They follow.

It's always been this way.

And tonight he's counting on that.

One of them clips his leg before he can step away, and his mind is assaulted with pain as the bone explodes. His leg is little more than a tattered rag now. Biting down a scream, he blocks out the pain and continues forward. He's almost there, one more step should do the trick.

He can't stop.

He won't stop.

He's suddenly yanked back by a dirty, clawed hand. A gasp of pain wrenches itself from his mouth as he lands on his shattered leg. Without looking back, he raises his palm behind his and intones the incantation in his mind.

_Incendio_

A gout of flame burst from his hand, engulfing his enemy who releases him immediately. He moves onward, leaving the wretch to roll around frantically trying to put out the flames. He knew it wouldn't kill them, werewolves are stronger than that, but he couldn't afford to do anything fancy. He was saving it for the big finale, and he was almost there. With another step and a crack, he arrives at his destination.

There's a small clearing surrounded by withered trees, with sticks and leaves haphazardly strewn about hiding a complex runic circle from view. Hopefully they wouldn't notice, they never were the most observant.

Reaching underneath his black cloak he grasps the silver handle of a sword, with rubies embedded in the pommel and handguard. Drawing it from its scabbard, the sound of scraping metal is heard as a sleek double-edged blade is revealed.

It would be considered beautiful if it weren't for the dark aura emanating from it, cultivated through the slaying of countless lives and the poison held within. He reminisces on when he first held it in his hands. Thirteen long years ago, and two years before the war. It has seen him through many battles and saved his life on more than one occasion. It's a shame what he must do to it now.

Plunging it into the center of the formation, he rests his weight on the sword and waits. Drawing in from the vast current of power below, the weapon is now a conduit between him and the world. Energy flows into him as nearly all his preparation are complete. Now all he needs is time.

Unfortunately, that's the one thing he doesn't have. A tearing sound is heard across from him and a hole opens up in the fabric of reality, through it he can see a gothic throne room, complete with a black throne. Stepping through the hole is a regal, pale man with slicked back black hair down to his shoulders. His eyes are a deep red with snake-like pupils. It is the Dark Lord, Voldemort.

He must have looked pathetic to the current ruler of the world in front of him. With his cloak in tatters and his black muggle attire in a similar state, dirty matted hair, splinters of various sizes running up and down his arms, a leg blown to hell, and numerous cuts adorning face, he looked like a man on the verge of defeat.

He was anything but.

"I grow tired of these games Harry," his voice is smooth, serpentine, and unnatural, "this world is mine, and everyone but you seems to have accepted that. It is… _frustrating _to say the least."

"I live to serve," responded Harry before finishing with a mocking grin, "_my lord_."

"Keep up that false bravado all you want you insolent brat, I can see how terrified you are, after all," the Dark Lord drawled, pointing at Harry's hand, "you're shaking like a leaf."

Startled, he looked down at the hand holding the Sword of Gryffindor. It was trembling, but not of fear, no, instead because of the absurd amounts of magical energy flowing into him. It was much greater than before and he was curious as to what had happened, but he also started to panic a bit. He couldn't let Voldemort focus too much on the sword or his hand or else he might detect what was going on.

For you see Harry had set up a complex formation meant to channel potent magical energy from the surrounding area into his body. And he had chosen this spot specifically as it was a location within the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts where several ley lines crossed. Ley lines are a series of crisscrossing natural forming channels of magic that span the entire globe. Hogwarts was built on one of these intersections, as well as Stonehenge coincidentally, and so was this runic array.

And now that energy was flowing into Harry, and at an unexpected and alarmingly fast rate, one that he wasn't sure his body would be able to keep up with for very long. This was not according to plan.

"Soon I shall break you, just as I have broken all your friends, comrades, and lovers," he taunted, toying with a wand he pulled out from his robes, "if I remember correctly, this one belonged to that metamorphmagus friend of yours. Oh, she was such fun to toy with, I never knew that her kind could take on such fascinating forms, her screams were delightful."

Harry clamped down on his emotions with occlumency, he couldn't afford to lose control now, this was a critical moment.

"I must tell you that our _sessions_ were so very informative," his snake eyes flashed with malice, and his regal features twisted into an ugly grin, "It was truly a fascinating experience, learning the limitations and capabilities of a metamorph, did you know for example that when performing human transfiguration on-"

That did it, the dam broke and Harry's rage poured through in full force before he was able to reign it back in and his control on the turbulent magic beneath him loosened. Just for a millisecond, but that was all it took to send it into haywire.

He had to act quick.

Drawing from his now immensely overflowed reserves he thrust his free hand towards the black-robed serpent and muttered the incantation in his head.

_Accio_

Using the maelstrom of magic from the ley lines he overpowered the anti-summoning charms protecting the Dark Lord, violently pulling him towards his outstretched hand.

Screaming from the pain of releasing such potent magic through his system, a pale blue glow began to emanate from underneath his skin as the madman came flying towards him. His skin begins to crack, and pure, raw magic started to exude from his body. A giant blue pillar of energy formed as Harry prepares himself.

Mid-flight, Voldemort realized Harry's plan and his red eyes widened in realization. His body twisted as he attempted to apparate away.

Harry's eyes, now enhanced by the excess magic saw this all in slow motion and he let a vindictive smirk form on his face. It was too late, for both of them.

_Gotcha you bastard._

This was the only way, and it was months in the making. Harry knew he couldn't outduel the Dark Lord, and while he might have possessed more power than Voldemort he didn't have his cunning, experience, speed, or knowledge. Sure he picked up a lot of useful things in the war, none of them seemed to be able to even the odds. Save for his most recent discovery, runes. The one area that his enemy deemed unnecessary. Turns out that half-baked prophecy was true after all.

And now it would be the end of both of them.

Harry released his control on the swirling vortex of arcane energy, both within him and beneath the earth. As he did so he felt every atom of his being disintegrate and caught a glimpse of the Dark Lord, mid-apparate, being caught up in the wave of destruction.

His job was done.

And the world was engulfed in pale blue.

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**Author's Note: So here's the first full chapter I guess, it could also really be called Prologue Part 2 since the main story/premise kicks in during the next chapter. Let me know what you think. Any and all feedback is appreciated.**


	3. Empty

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**I know that this chapter is a bit of a tone shift from the previous two chapters, but please stick with it, trust me it makes sense for the story.**

**I apologize for any damage incurred by whiplash from either the dialog or tone shift.**

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His head was pounding. That was the first thing he noticed. The second was that he was very hungry and very thirsty. The third thing that caught his attention was what he was lying on, it was cold, hard, and segmented, like concrete. But it was too smooth to be the coarse material that covered most of the muggle world.

Wait, _muggle_?

Where had that come from?  
He scoured his memories and couldn't find an answer, in fact, he couldn't find anything; no memories, no name, nothing. Panicking he quickly stood up before having to clutch his head and steady himself when a brief spell of dizziness decided to strike. Blearily looking around he finally took note of where he was.

Grey squares stretched out seemingly endlessly on all sides of him. High above him was what looked to be a ceiling, which was the same shade of gray as the floor.

He wasn't the only person wherever he was. On either side of him, there were seemingly endless lines of people, all slowly marching into the distance. And they were naked. All of them. There were literally thousands of naked people standing around him. Looking down at himself he found, much to his embarrassment, that he was naked as well. He also felt odd, as if he was supposed to be taller and that his legs were too short, causing some disorientation initially.

Averting his eyes as best as one could among thousands of those in the nude, as well as covering himself he looked around for someone to ask where the bloody hell he was. He stood around there for about a full minute before he heard someone trying to get his attention.

"Psst," looking around he saw a red-headed boy with his hands cupped around his mouth facing his direction, "psssssst!"

Looking around and seeing no one else around him, save for the line of people behind him, he pointed a finger as if asking the boy 'who me?' Nodding the redhead gestured excitedly for him to come over.

"Ya can't just stand there, ya look like a lost puppy," the redhead half-shouted, half whispered at him, "get on over here!"

Obliging he ambled over, still not used to his too short legs and trying to keep his modesty at the same time.

"Quit acting like that, ya look weird kid," the redhead scolded, "You'll get used ta it trust me."

Nodding, face flushed with embarrassment, he tried to relax. Once he had calmed himself down enough he got a closer look at the boy, he had short and wild red hair, almond-shaped brown eyes, and a lean build. Red, he remembered something about that color.

Red eyes looking at him mockingly.

Flowing red hair in the breeze.

A flash of green.

Blood, so much blood.

Fire.

Incendio

With a gasp, he folds over clutching his head as his mind feels like it's tearing itself to pieces. The redhead lays a concerned hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, ya alright?"

He looks up to him and nods, unable to speak due to him clenching his jaw to prevent a scream from escaping him.

What did it mean? What did any of this mean? And why was it caused by this boy's hair?

Suddenly he reached out to the person in front of him, grasping the redhead he started inspecting and combing through the messy tufts of orangish-red hair.

"Oi!" the carrot-topped youth exclaimed, smacking the offending hands away, "What the hell are ya doing?!"

"Ah sorry," raising his hands in front of him in the classic 'I'm innocent' pose, "it's just that your hair did something strange to me and I'm trying to find out why."

"Ya know, I've heard that my hair has that kind of effect people," the redhead said teasingly, "usually however my victims are cute girls, not a scrawny kid like ya."

"Quit it, I'm being serious here!" he shouted, already exasperated by his counterpart's antics, "I saw your hair and then these things appeared in my head, and now I can't get them out! What the bloody hell did you-"

"Ya mean memories, right?" 'Red' asked him, "Yeah I seem ta notice that people seem ta have a distinct lack of those around here. I got lucky an' had my name and a few other random things, an' from that, I was able to find out more."

"The name's Yoriaki if ya must know, I'm 20 years old and from a place called Japan, wherever that is," the now named Yoriaki said, outstretching a hand in front of him, "how 'bout ya?"

Name, what was his name? He knew he must have one, it was kind of one of those things that everyone has.

A regal, red-eyed man with black hair stared mockingly at him. His mouth moved but no words came out.

That man whoever he was, whatever he was saying must be his name. It had to be. If he could only hear what him.

"I-I don't know," he replied before firmly grasping the outstretched hand, "But I'm glad to have met you Yoriaki, it'll be good to have a friendly face here, wherever here is."

"Right back 'atcha," Yoriaki grinned, "Midori-san."

"Midori?" he asked, not used to the word or pronunciation.

"Yeah ya know, green," answered Yoriaki, sheepishly scratching the back of his head, "for yer eyes, I swear I've never seen such a distinctive shade of green before, of course, that isn't saying much seeing as I can't really remember much of my life nowadays."

"I have green eyes?" the newly minted Midori, "What else can you tell me?"

"You mean you didn't kn-" Yoriaki caught himself, eyes narrowing in concern "Right, ya really don't remember anything do ya? Well ya got messy black hair, I really didn't think anyone could beat my hair in that area but ya come damn close kid, and yer very scrawny, almost stick an' bones. Ya could use a good meal or two. Age wise I'd say ya look to be around 12 or so, give or take a coupla years, hard ta tell with how little there is of ya. As for yer face, I suppose ya can do that yerself."

Pulling down a strand of hair to inspect for himself, Midori verified Yoriaki's claims. He then felt around his face, memorizing the features and feel of it generating a mental image in his head. Reaching up to his forehead he felt an odd bump in his skin, tracing the bump it seemed to take the shape of a lightning bolt. A scar then, and it seems to have healed a while ago, but what an odd shape for it to take. Putting aside the mystery of the mark for now, he realized something with a start.

"Wait you said you were 20 but you're as tall as me!" exclaimed Midori, "You're a midget!"

Midori suddenly found himself in a peculiar situation, one where he couldn't move his head, his throat was being constricted, something was forcefully grinding into his head, and there was someone yelling into his ear.

"Ya wanna say that again punk?!" shouted Yoriaki, who currently held Midori in a headlock and was giving him a noogie, "I'll have ya know that I'm eight, count 'em eight, years yer senior an' I'll have ya treat me with some res-"

A polite cough from behind them interrupted his rant, looking behind him the hothead noticed an elderly man pointing to the other side of him. Turning back around again he noticed that the line had moved on without them.

"Shit! Come on come on Midori! We're gonna be late!" releasing his green-eyed prisoner he sprinted ahead to catch up.

"Eh?! Late for what?!" Midori called, chasing after him.

"No idea!"

"What happens if we're late?!"

"Don't know! But I sure as hell don't wanna to find out!"

"Wait for me!"

"Not a chance old man! Come on Midori!"

"C-coming!"

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**Author's Note: So yeah, second full chapter. I know that this one's a bit dialog heavy, and unfortunately so will the next chapter. Now the reason behind Midori's/Harry's change in character is because this is a Harry who hasn't gone through the struggles that the one in the last chapter has as he has no memory of those events. This is "Base Harry" so to speak, and he's just a polite (mostly), inquisitive, and nervous kid. Don't worry we'll get to the old Harry eventually, but I'm going to be building him up slowly. As always any feedback is appreciated.**


	4. Name

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Prepare for another dialog heavy chapter, also it's pretty much 2 chapters in one.**

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Panting and out of breath, Yoriaki and Midori lay collapsed on the cool, hard ground having finally caught up with the line.

"O-oi, Midori what're ya doin' just laying on the ground like that," groaned out the redhead, "if that's all ya got, then I gotta say, it's pretty pathetic."

"Well of course I am," retorted Midori, "I had to run all out just to keep with you, and you're not one to talk Yoriaki."

"Yer right, I did run full speed," he admitted, "so how the hell did he keep up with us?!"

Looming over the two boys was the elderly man from before with a mischievous smile on his wrinkled face.

"Ho, ho, ho," he said haughtily, "I'll have you know that I'm very spry for my age. I was quite the athlete in my youth, it'll be another hundred years before you can challenge me, little Yoriaki-chan."

"In another ten years you'll be dead old man, let alone a hundred!" he shouted back, before clutching his stomach in pain due to the cramp forming there.

"Ho, ho, ho, that's karma at work young man. Who was it that said to respect your elders again?"

"Shut it!"

"Speaking of age-" began Midori before being cut off by a glare from the old man.

"Watch it, Midori-chan, you seem to be a good kid, it'd be a shame if something happened to you."

"No, no, not like that!" Midori began frantically waving his hands in front of him, "It's about what I said earlier, my point still stands, how come you look 10 years old Yoriaki if you're 25?"

Yoriaki sighed before pulling himself back up and offering a hand to the still downed Midori.

"I'll ignore yer comment on my height for now, but ta answer yer question I have no fuckin' idea," pulling Midori up from the ground, "All I know is that I woke up here lookin' like this, an' it didn't feel right at all. I was stumblin' 'round all over the place makin' a fool of myself before I got used ta my new size. Satisfied?"

Midori wasn't as surprised as he expected to be, in fact, something extremely similar had just happened to him. Did that mean that he was older than what he appeared to be? If so, how much older?

"I think something similar happened to me," explained Midori with a contemplative expression, "when I first woke up my body didn't feel right at all, as if my legs were meant to longer. That's why I stumbled as much as I did and why it took me so long to catch up with you. Fortunately, I'm used to it now, thanks to that same run."

"Really now," said Yoriaki, uncharacteristically inquisitive, "so how old are ya kid?"

"Not twelve," he deadpanned.

"Well duh, but I mean-" Yoriaki stopped himself when Midori tapped the side of his head, "right, right, you can't remember. Well until you find out, I'm still your senior. Speaking of, where did that old man go?"

"Um, Yoriaki?"

"Yes, Midori?"

"The line's moved again."

"Ah, very good Midori. Excellent observation."

"..."

"..."

"Shit! Not again!"

"Wait up Yoriaki!"

"Can't stop, won't stop Midori! I'm not getting left behind!"

"Well don't just leave me behind in the process!"

"Consider this an impromptu lesson!"

"In what?!"

"Reflect on that while yer running Midori!"

"Who asked you to be my teacher?!"

"It's my duty as yer senior ta do so! Now try ta keep up Midori!"

"Senior my ass!"

* * *

"We. Need. To. Stop. Doing. That." Midori panted out between breaths, hunched over.

"I'm right there with ya buddy," agreed Yoriaki, in a similar state to Midori, before turning to face their chuckling observer, "Why the hell didn't ya tell us when ya left old man?!"

"Ho, ho, ho," the wiry old man laughed to himself in his usual haughty tone, "learn to respect your seniors brat, and then I might."

_Brat._

"Hmph, don't look down on me," the redhead scowled before smirking at him "don't go gettin' a cane gramps or I just might leave ya in the dust."

"I'd like to see you try," answered the old man grinning right back at Yoriaki, "and the name's Masanori, not gramps."

_Brat._

_"...you insolent brat, I can see how terrified you are…"_

_Red-eyes._

_Rage._

_Pain._

_Loss._

_Desperation._

_Accio_

Clutching his head, Midori couldn't hold back the scream that tore its way through his throat this time as his mind burned. His legs gave out beneath him and the gray ground quickly approached. Before his head made contact with the floor though he was stopped.

Warm.

So far everything around him and been cold, from the hard surface beneath him to the chilly air. But not this. Whatever stopped him and been warm. Looking at it he an arm wrapped around his torso, preventing him from falling. Tracing the length of the arm with his eyes he came into contact with brown eyes staring back in concern.

"Hey man, I know it's tough but ya gotta hang in there," cake Yoriaki's voice before Midori was righted and steady, "trust me, it'll get easier as more memories start ta come back. So what did ya remember? Anything useful or that might give us a hint as to where we are?"

"T-the red-eyed man, h-he took something from me," Midori spoke with anguish, "and it hurt, it hurt so much. There was so much pain, hate, and

"He knows my name, I'm sure of it," he revealed, "I have to find him, to get my name and take back what he stole."

"Now hang on a minute," Yoriaki interjected, "I'm really not sure that's the best idea. What if he's some super powerful warlord or somethin'? I mean you've already lost to him before it seems, an' look at ya, you're helpless as it is."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that if I were you," retorted the skinnier of the two.

"An' what the hell is that supposed ta mean?" the redhead asked indignantly.

"This," replied Midori, raising his hand in front of him he muttered a single word, "_Incendio_."

An orangish red flame sprang to life in his palm, dancing across his pale skin leaving it untouched by the heat emitting from the fire. His two companions looked on in fascination, marveling at this surreal display before Midori clenched his fist and extinguished. Suddenly he felt his shoulders being gripped before being spun around to face Masanori, his eyes uncharacteristically serious.

"Listen to me young Midori, you must keep this ability a secret," Masanori spoke gravelly, "people fear what they do not understand, and when people are afraid they tend to lash out. So for your own safety, do not show anyone else what you can do."

"I-I'll do my best Mr. Masanori," he timidly nodded, thoroughly intimidated by the old man.

"Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me?!" cried out Yoriaki, "What he can do is amazing! An' ya want him to hide it away?! For it to become nothin' more than a secret to be ashamed of?! Fuck that! That ability is his an' he should be damn proud of it!"

"Yoriaki-" started Midori, trying to get his attention before being cut off by the redhead.

"No Midori, this old man shouldn't stick his nose where it doesn't belong!" Interrupted Yoriaki, before gearing up for another rant, "An' I'll have ya know-"

"Yoriaki!" shouted Midori, startling both Masanori and the redhead at such a loud outburst coming from the green-eyed kid, embarrassed at his actions he continued in a quieter voice, "Yoriaki, you're causing a scene, please let's just drop it and move on with the line."

Indeed they were, looking around the hotheaded youth noticed that his shouting caused many people to stop and stare at the trio. Unnerved by the number of looks they were getting, Yoriaki turned around and started walking with the ever-advancing line.

"Tch. Don't think this is over old man," he called over his shoulder before gesturing towards the smaller youth, "come on Midori, you don't want to get left behind."

"Oh, but how are you gonna keep up with me now that I have these new powers," he teased the redhead before running ahead of him, "if you don't do something cool soon you'll be the one left behind."

"Oi! Get back here!" Yoriaki shouted at the raven-haired boy, sprinting after him, "Just you wait! I'll catch up to ya in no time!"

"Don't count me out just because I'm old!" Masanori called after them, running as well.

* * *

After several hours in the line, the trio finally saw what the lines were moving to; lots and lots of booths. For each line, there seemed to be a booth manned by a person in strange black robes. Behind the phalanx of kiosks were several doorways emitting white light, each labeled with a number of 1-80 followed by a strange character Midori had never seen before. There seemed to be sets of four as for each number there were four doorways, each one with a different a character.

After passing through the booths, people seem to be heading to different doorways.

"Well," began Midori, "this certainly isn't what I was expecting."

"Yeah I was expectin' somethin' a bit more, well," said Yoriaki, taking it all in, "more."

"Eloquently put as always Yoriaki-chan," drawled Masanori.

"Shut it ya geezer!" he yelled back at him before turning back to the spectacle in front of them, "Seriously though, the hell is this?!"

"I'd think it'd be wise if we kept our mind clear of any assumptions until we see what's happening for ourselves," mused Masanori.

As they kept moving forward in line they noticed that some people would break down crying or simply collapse after visiting the booth. A few had to be dragged to the doors wailing and screaming.

"No! No, it can't be true!" screamed one man as he was dragged to a doorway marked with an 80, "Please let me go back! I don't want to be here!"

Another woman had her head cradled in her hands muttering things to herself with a blank expression on her face and showed no reaction when a pair of men armed with swords dragged her off to another doorway.

Speaking of, there was a pair of what appeared to be guards at each boot. Each wearing the same odd black robes as the people operating a kiosk with a sword strapped to their side.

"Um Yoriaki," started Midori nervously, "is this what you meant by 'more'?"

Turning to look at his friend he saw a look of shock and terror crossed the redhead's face before he seemed to find his resolve and had a determined expression set.

"Come on Midori," Yoriaki said, moving forward with the line, "whatever it is we'll face it head on, together."

"R-right," nodding, Midori steeled himself for whatever was going to happen when it became their turn at the booths.

"You to0 gramps," turning to face Masanori behind him he said, "yer heart better not give out now. I don't want to be associated with some cowardly old man whose heart stopped because he was too afraid to move forward. I've got an image to uphold with the ladies after all."

Snorting Masanori matched Yoriaki's determination with a smirk of his own.

"As if, Yoriaki-chan," responded the oldest of the trio, "my heart's still going strong. Also what sort of senior would I be if I let the two under my guidance go it alone?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever ya geezer," Yoriaki said, smirking back at him, "ya can try an' play it off all ya want but I know yer just a scared old man."

"Wow Yoriaki," grinned Midori, gaining the redhead's attention, "when I said that you had to do something cool I didn't expect you to take it so seriously."

"S-shut it kid," Yoriaki bit back, blushing from embarrassment.

* * *

An hour later the trio's turn was quickly approaching, however, Midori's mind was occupied by something else.

_Accio_

It was another thing he had remembered, just that word. He knew it held some importance and if he was being honest it seemed very similar to the other word he had remembered.

_Incendio_

If that word made fire come to life in his hands, what would the other one do? The possibilities were endless and frankly, it scared him, and if he was being honest Mr. Masanori's words also scared him.

But Yoriaki wasn't scared. No, he loved his flames, thought that they were awesome. He said that they were a blessing and something to be treasured. Midori was incredibly thankful for that.

He was glad to have met Yoriaki as he wasn't sure what he would have done if he didn't have his hot-headed friend with hair to match to look out for him.

"I said next," a bored voice called out from in front of Midori, and with a start, he realized that he was next in line, Yoriaki having already gone through.

Looking around for him he saw his friend and he seemed to be doing okay. He was waiting on the other end of the booth for him and gave him a reassuring nod. Mustering up his courage he walked forward step by step until he came to a stop in front of the booth.

Inside the booth, there was a tired looking man with straight black hair falling over his eyes, which were bloodshot and had bags underneath them. The man lazily ran his eyes over Midori in disinterest.

"Thank you for your patience," droned the man as if he was reading from a script, which he probably was.

"Welcome to Soul Society, your immigration into the afterlife will be over shortly."

**What.**

He was dead? But that can't be true, he was alive, he was sure of it. He didn't even remeber dying.

_Oh god._

He couldn't _remember._

He couldn't remember _anything._

Sure there were some brief flashes, a couple hints here and there but no solid memories.

It would explain so much.

His amnesia.

The lack of clothes on anyone.

I mean sure he thought it was strange and weird at first but he got used to it. He brushed it off, but he shouldn't have.

This wasn't normal.

None of this was normal.

Why did he ever think this was _normal_?

_Red hair._

_Laughter._

_Distractions._

**_Yoriaki._**

**_HE KNEW._**

He never let him focus on the odd things happening around him, always keeping him off balance with his jokes and antics.

Oh god he must have known from the start. He said he remembered but never how much.

So how much did he remember?  
Some of it?  
All of it?  
Meeting Yoriaki's gaze, Midori was startled by what he saw. He didn't see fear, surprise, or anything like that.

Just calm determination.

And he remembered.

He remembered his home, his loved ones, he remembered being alive.

And he remained calm through it all.

So what the hell was he doing?!

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. That's right, Yoriaki had a life before this, and regardless he remained strong throughout, what kind of strength did that take? And what the bloody hell was he freaking out about? He didn't have a life before this, at least not one he could remember, so what the hell's the difference between being dead or alive?

If Yoriaki could do it, so could he.

"I'm going to need your name before we begin," drawled the haggard looking man across the counter from him, "if you can remember it that is."

"Mi-" no that's not it.

Not all of it at least.

He wasn't going to be weak anymore.

He was going to catch up to Yoriaki, so he couldn't keep relying on him.

He had to stand on his own two feet.

_A red-eyed man._

_Lips twisted into a mocking grin._

_Pain._

_Loss._

**_A name._**

He's got to be strong enough to find that man with the serpent-eyes and take back what he stole.

After all, he doesn't have to ask him for his name anymore.

He already knows it.

"The name is Harry. Harry Midori."

* * *

**Author's Note: So yeah this chapter is a bit longer than the rest simply because I want this part of the story to be over and done with as soon as possible, there is after all only so much plot development one can do waiting in line. I also didn't want to bore you with 2 more dialog heavy chapters right after the last one. **

**I will admit that Yoriaki and Masanori were two spur of the moment characters that I came up with on the spot but I liked having them in so I just kind of went with it. That's how my writing process works, I have a general outline for things to happen but I improvise and incorporate things on the fly and see where they go and how I can fit them in to the story. Next chapter might take a little longer to come out, or not, who knows. **

**Any and all feedback is appreciated like always.**


	5. Entry

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

"Harry Midori-san, huh?" muttered the tired man behind the booth giving the raven haired youth across from him a sidelong glance, "quite an odd name you got there."

"How so?" he asked, not realizing what was off about his name.

"Well I've never met anyone with the family name Harry before," he man explained, "in fact I don't even think it's Japanese."

"Japanese?" Harry questioned, "What's that?"

"What's that?! It's the language you're speaking right now! How can you not-" started the man exasperatedly before smacking himself in the head, "Right, right, communication between souls is universal and automatically translated. Still won't help with the written part of the language, names, or the honorifics. I guess there's no way around it, I'll have to sign you up for the Japanese package, man what a hassle. There's been more and more foreigners coming through here every since Japan opened up its borders. I'll assume then that your name is Midori Harry then."

"While I get the paperwork settled please place your hand inside the box," he said.

Looking for said box, Harry saw it resting on top of the booth's shelf. It was a dark green color with a smooth exterior and perfect angles, there was a slot on the side of the box facing him. Harry, however, could not see inside the box.

Nervously, Harry wondered what the box would do. However he looked at Yoriaki and saw no markings on his hands. If he could do it so could Harry.

Harry raised his hand and without hesitation he stuck it inside the slot. As soon as he did a whirring sound could be heard from inside the box. This seemed to go on for a couple of minutes and Harryjust stood there awkwardly as the man behind the booth seemed to get increasingly impatient.

Suddenly a metallic click could be heard and a voice from emanating from the box could be heard.

"Date of death: Unknown"

"Unknown huh, well that's a new one," the man said with slightly more interest than before, "this is after all a new model from the 12th division, I suppose not all the bugs have been worked out. I guess I'll have to send it in for repairs."

A churning sound could be heard and a slip of paper was dispensed from the side facing the man in the booth. Grabbing it, the man tore the end off and deposited it in a drawer before handing Harry the slip.

"This is your entrance ticket," he explained back in his deadpan tone from before, "just go to the door with the corresponding with the door number on your ticket. Looks like yours is the southern 80th district. Before that though I'll need you to hold still for just a moment."

Before Harry could respond the man seemed to have pulled a large ink stamp. Reaching across the counter he pressed it against Harry's forehead. Several lines of Japanese characters were left on his skin and a couple seconds later they seemed to sink into his skin and be absorbed.

"There no you don't have to worry about not being able to read here in Soul Society," explained the man, "now make sure to grab some clothes that fit you from behind the kiosk before going to your assigned district."

Nodding, he left the front of the booth and went around to the back of the kiosk where there seemed to be box's full of random robes and clothes. Hardly any of them were in good condition, but they were something. Finding a loose fitting black robe, that he now knew was a kimono, that stopped at knees and elbows he quickly tied it off with a tattered black sash.

Feeling some relief at finally being clothed he went over to Yoriaki who was in a similar state of dress but his robes were a light grey.

"Ya doin' alright Midori?" The redhead asked his raven haired counterpart.

"Why?" Harry asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would ya have believed me?" he answered, looking at him Harry seemed to consider it before shaking his head, continuing he said, "I also didn't want ya ta panic like those other people, I was doin' my best to look out for ya."

"But who asked you to look out for me?" he continued to question Yoriaki, "Why are you helping me, you didn't know me."

"Yer right I didn't, but I think I saw a bit of myself when I was younger in ya," he replied sheepishly, "besides it's my duty as yer older brother to look out for ya."

"Older brother?" he said in shock, Yoriaki was his older brother?

"Not yer actual brother dimwit," Yoriaki explained, smacking the backside of Harry's head, "I just always wanted a younger brother, see I'm the youngest of 5 brothers and was the tallest of them standing at 2 meters with long flowing hair, but despite that no one ever relied on me. I was always babied and never trusted with anything, so I always wanted someone who would rely on me, someone I could look after."

"Sure I'll be your little brother," Harry said before offering his hand, "just don't forget you can rely on me as well, we'll look out for each other. We're brothers after all."

"Yeah," Yoriaki agreed, clasping Harry's hand in his own, "brothers."

"Just so you know it's Harry now," Harry said, "Midori Harry."

"Don't leave me out of this just because I'm old," came sudden voice from the side of them, startled they turned and saw a grinning Masanori.

"Quit it old man!" Yoriaki shouted back at him.

Midori suddenly doubled over laughing.

"I-I'm going to miss this," he said after regaining his breath, "I'm glad to have met you guys."

"What're ya talkin' 'bout, Midori?" asked Yoriaki.

"Well we'll all be going off in our own directions now right?" he explained looking at his ticket, I'm heading off to the south 80th district."

"Huh, well would you look at that, I'm going to the north 80th district," said Masanori, "I guess you're right, it's been a pleasure you two, hopefully we'll see each other again some time."

With that he walked over to the corresponding doorway before being stopped by a guard, who inspected his ticket briefly before allowing him to pass. There was one guard for each set of of doorways.

Looking around Harry saw some of the guards becoming antsy with how stationery the two were. Then he noticed a pair of guards starting to walk towards them.

"We really should be going Yoriaki," Harry said, laying a hand on his shoulder, "Besides it's not like we won't see each other again right?"

"Nah who cares about that," Yoriaki replied with a grin, "I'll just go with yah."

"I don't think-" Harry started, before being cut off by Yoriaki.

"It'll be fine don't worry about it," he said forcefully dragging Harry with him, "southern 80th district right?"

They were suddenly stopped by a guard.

"I'll need to check your tickets," he intoned, with a palm outstretched.

Handing them over, he gave them a cursory glance before he gestured to Yoriaki.

"Sorry but the western 15th district is over down that way," he motioned down across the line of doorways before grabbing Harry by the arm, "I'll make sure he gets to the 80th southern district, you just run along now."

"I'll be alright Yoriaki," Harry told him with a tearful grin as he was marched to the doorway, "Besides we'll see each other again. I'll come visit you in the 15th district. Don't worry about me."

"I wouldn't bet on it kid," the guard interjected, "the you're heading to the slums, the 80th districts are the worst there is, I hate to do this but you need to be concerned with yourself there and not worry about your friend there. You better toughen up otherwise you won't last out there."

"Don't listen to him Yoriaki I'll be-" Harry stopped himself when he saw Yoriaki, his friends eyes were downcast, staring at the floor, and his fists were clenched, "Yoriaki?"

Yoriaki stayed like that until Harry was about to reach the doorway.

"'Don't worry about me,' ya say 'I'll be fine,' ya say," muttered the redhead before lifting his head and locking eyes with Harry, who was shocked at what he saw in his brown eyes, there was a fire that he had never seen before, "Don't screw with me! Don't expect me to believe that shit when ya don't sound like ya believe it either! Yer just saying that for my sake, and ya know what? It fuckin pisses me off! I told ya to rely on me, so rely on me goddamnit! Yer my little brother, I'm going with ya no matter what!"

With that he broke into a sprint straight towards Harry.

"Stop that kid!" shouted the guard holding Harry, who was then released as he prepared to intercept Yoriaki.

Two guards from the booths came running towards Yoriaki from behind, but they were slower than the red haired youth as they hadn't gotten much physical exercise at this post.

Yoriaki continued his mad dash heading straight for the guard in front of him, who had his feet planted wide and his arms outstretched in an attempt to stop his advance. As he got closer, Yoriaki darted to the side and grabbed hold of one of the guards outstretched arms, lifting himself off the ground with it he spun himself around the guard and planted his feet in the guards back before using it as a springboard to launch himself towards Harry.

Both Harry's and Yoriaki's eyes widened in alarm as they both noticed that Yoriaki was on a straight path of collision with Harry's torso.

Head met chest as they collided and went tumbling backwards into the doorway filled with white light.

* * *

**Author's Note: And we're finally done with the Arrival Arc, now that we are finally entering Soul Society interesting things can start happening besides talking in line. I hated writing this arc simply because I just never thought it was good enough or interesting enough, but I hope I've managed to entertain you up until this point. Next chapter will definitely take longer to come out though so please bear with me. As always any feedback is appreciated.**


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